


To The Victor

by xsaturated



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:52:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xsaturated/pseuds/xsaturated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sebastian is a Lannister of Casterly Rock and Blaine is a Stark of Winterfell but neither of these things particularly matter when one's in need of a little luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While this is a Game of Thrones inspired AU, I don't think you'll need any particular knowledge of the ASoIaF verse to understand it. This is also incredibly self-indulgent. Written on a whim last night for [](http://missgoalie75.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://missgoalie75.livejournal.com/)**missgoalie75** , who has been happily bouncing ideas for GoT-esque AU's back and forward with me. This is me tapping out for now, btw. Tag, you're it.

It's too hot.

There is sweat sliding down the back of his neck, curling his damp hair into a bigger mess than it undoubtedly already was, and he can feel the silk of all his court finery clinging heavily to his back. The heady thrill of wine (two cups more than his father would ever allow him if he were at home) has already settled lazily in his bones, made him droop a little in the gallery as he waits for the opportunity to slip away unnoticed and find some shade.

It's only familial duty that had dragged him out of the Keep and into the overbearing summer heat to watch the tourney in the first place, he doubts anyone would truly begrudge him slipping away now.

The air is thick with the smell of horse and dirt and sweat; all of it belying the cloying scent of blood baking into the earth beneath the midday sun. Blaine wonders if he'll ever be able to get the image of that dark puddle soaking greedily into the tourney field and the poor hedge knight who'd spilled it from his mind.

He'd been the first death of the day; victim to a broken lance and ill-fitted armor, and Blaine can still see him gasping on the ground as he choked on the blood that had bubbled from his mouth, staining his lips crimson.

It felt like such a waste, to lose a life for the sake of playing at war.

It had been a fitting reminder of the reasons why Blaine is tucked securely away in the stands instead of waiting in the lists for his turn - why Cooper had ridden for their House today, the snarling direwolf of their House sigil wrought proudly into the breastplate of his pale armor, and been subsequently unhorsed early in the fourth round by one of the Tyrells - while Blaine sits amidst the rest of the nobility to cheer him on.

He knows what they think of him, what the courtiers whisper behind his back here in the Capital. It's the same thing that their first Master-At-Arms had told him as a child - he was too small, too delicate for warfare - perhaps his father ought to look into finding a Septa to teach him needlecraft and how to mind his manners like a good highborn lady. They are the same insidious rumors and whispers that have followed him throughout his youth, discarding the accomplishments he's made with a sword because his preferences, as they called them, were so much more worthy of gossip.

The second Master-At-Arms hadn't been much better, though his begrudging respect had at least been earned when Blaine had proved himself more than capable of handling a sword.

If only his father was so easily convinced.

There will be no tourneys for him, no matter how well he rides or can wield a sword.

Blaine shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyeing the cluster of ladies from the court in their brightly colored silks to his left as they whisper amongst themselves, their giggles crawling in beneath his best defenses as he stares determinedly down at the field.

At last there's a stir of action down on the field, horses snorting and stamping at the dirt as the next competitors line up in the lists and Blaine turns his head a little, blinking against the brilliant flare of red and gold in the sun. He doesn't have to look, really, to know who it is.

He only has to hear the roar of the commons.

Blaine can see the eyes of the lions rampant, emblazoned on either side of the breastplate of his armor from here, glittering red in the sunlight as the knight's stallion shifts beneath his weight. Unlike his uncle who jousts in armor of plated gold, there are only accents of Lannister gold to be found on Sebastian's, but the ostentatious show of wealth still has the commoners roaring with approval.

Blaine shifts again as he hears the soft tittering of the ladies at his side, the placing of bets between the bored court lords that lounged in their seats, and above that still the pound of hoofbeats as the competitors ride to the end of the lists and couch their lances.

He can feel the entire gallery tremble as they ride forward to meet each other, Blaine's eyes glued to the flash of gold and red armor as Sebastian twists in his saddle, armor shifting like scales with him to evade the lance of his opponent as he drives his own low into the other man's chest. The crowds are cheering before the other has even hit the ground in a shower of splintered wood, Sebastian raising a hand in victory before he reigns in his horse, tipping back his visor before he urges the stallion towards the gallery.

And this, really, is the part they've been waiting for.

Sebastian may look every bit the part of the champion, tall and strong and gleaming in his beautiful armor, but it is this little touch of ceremony that has made the commoners love him over the past two days.

Each victory he has won at the tourney has been sealed with a kiss - for luck, he says - on the back of the hand for the Dornish princess who had scoffed and rolled her eyes because she could; on the cheek for the King's youngest sister, only just thirteen who had blushed and giggled at the suggestion and had been quite smitten ever since.

And so on it has gone, the ladies of the court having taken to sitting nearer to the barrier of the gallery in the hopes that they will be chosen next.

Blaine is just wondering if Sebastian's little performance might be just the distraction he needs to slip away unnoticed, when his attention is caught by the gleam of red and the snorting of a horse, his eyes jerking up in surprise to find that he is being watched.

There is something a little wicked in the curve of Sebastian's lips, bolstered no doubt by his victory, and horror quickly follows in the wake of Blaine's surprise because surely he doesn't mean to -

He can hear whispering starting to rise in the gallery like the heat that's flooding up his neck, pooling across his cheeks under Sebastian's scrutiny, and he's brought his horse to a standstill, a challenge and something like laughter in his voice as he says, "Could I trouble you for a favor, Stark?"

Blaine's spine stiffens, his eyes narrowing as he hears the titters of stifled laughter and whispers at his back, wondering if this is all some horrible joke intended to disgrace his entire family. There had never been any love lost between their houses.

He's heard things about Sebastian as well. Whispers about the reasons behind the three separate marriage proposals he has denied in the past few years. But Blaine doubts that anybody would ever dare say anything to Sebastian's face.

It makes it all the more confusing when Sebastian extends a hand as if to help Blaine to his feet, his eyebrows hitching upwards like a challenge over eyes that are gleaming with laughter.

Blaine ignores the hand, rising to his feet on his own power with a dark look spared for Sebastian as he tips his chin up, head spinning with wine and unaccountably frustrated that even with the gallery's assistance Sebastian, mounted as he is, is still taller, and asks, "What favor would a Lannister ask of a Stark?"

He wonders where Cooper is and if, when he hears of this, he'll be half so humiliated as Blaine is. Cooper has never been as concerned about the honor of their family as their father is.

"Only this," Sebastian assures him, the hand Blaine had refused lightly gripping his chin, tipping it up to a better angle as he stoops in his saddle and Blaine's eyes flutter closed, prepared for the brush of lips over the burning skin of his cheeks or the back of his hand, but not for the lips that hungrily claim his.

It isn't anything like the chaste, courtly favors he'd pressed to the backs of hands or the cheeks of any of the highborn ladies that Sebastian had picked previously from the gallery to celebrate his victory - it's aggressive, heated from the start as teeth nip at his bottom lip, hard enough to make him gasp and for Sebastian's tongue to press the advantage.

A spike of heat surges through him and Blaine wants to attribute his sudden lightheadedness to the wine he probably shouldn't have been drinking, but Sebastian kisses like he fights; ferociously and entirely without mercy.

Blaine can hear the murmuring from the gallery roaring in his ears, his cheeks burning like wildfire when Sebastian finally draws back to sit high in his saddle, smug satisfaction curling across his lips as he takes up the reigns of his horse again and nudges the stallion into a turn with his knees.

His head whips back to Blaine, victory gleaming in his eyes before he winks, lips twitching as he elaborates, "For luck," before sliding the visor of his helm back into place.

Later on, Blaine will learn that Sebastian unhorsed his next three opponents without even breaking a lance and had won both the victory and the gold without claiming a single other kiss.

But for now, he doesn't bother to wait for the perfect moment to slip away unnoticed - it's not like he could attract more attention to himself at this point, even if he tried.

\--

Blaine had fully intended on skipping the feast that night, unable to stomach the idea of yet more whispering and gossip at his expense thanks to Sebastian's stunt at the jousting fields. Cooper, however, had insisted - practically dragged him out of their rooms himself.

"It's easy little brother," he had told Blaine as he tugged him down the halls, smoothing the dark velvet of Blaine's doublet out with his palms and tracing his thumbnail along the stitching as he leveled a patient smile at him. "They can't make a fool of you if you're already laughing. It's not like it can get any worse."

Privately, Blaine thinks that that's the worst advice Cooper has ever given him - and Cooper has given his fair share of terrible advice.

Now, seated in the hall amidst the den of vipers, each one wearing a faker smile than the last, he knows that it certainly can get worse.

He's made it through two courses, limiting himself to a single cup of the warm, spicy Dornish wine that he's been thoroughly blaming for the entire fiasco that afternoon. Focusing entirely on his food rather than the unsubtle jibes that have been zinging over his head since he and Cooper arrived.

Sebastian is thankfully seated with the tourney champions, well away from where Cooper had chosen to sit, and suitably engaged with his company, so Blaine doesn't feel like he has to keep tabs on him. He only lasts one more course before he decides he can't take one more snide comment and excuses himself, ignores Cooper's frown of disapproval, and carefully slips out of the hall.

Away from the heat of the hall - rising in waves off the platters and the roaring fires, the noise of conversation and clinking plates and cups and laughter, Blaine's head feels heavy and his skin too warm. He walks until the guards are out of sight before he sinks back against the wall, resting his head against cool stone and closing his eyes to try and gather his bearings.

"There you are, Stark, I was looking for you."

Blaine stiffens, his shoulders tensing at the voice that he recognizes far too well for a man he has never been formally introduced to. He cracks open his eyes to find the man in question leaning against the wall opposite him, his features dark and indecipherable in the flickering torchlight.

Even out of armor Sebastian still looks every inch the Lannister lord, tall and lean and dangerous.

"Looking to embarrass me further, Lannister?" Blaine replies evenly, determined not to let Sebastian get the better of him for a second time that day. "You seem to be lacking an audience this time."

Whatever Sebastian's motivation for that farce at the jousting fields had been, there was something about the smile Sebastian had been wearing before he slid his helm back into place that makes Blaine certain it hasn't been satisfied yet.

Instead he watches Sebastian push off from against the wall, his full height towering over Blaine in a way that makes his heart thump loud in his ears and his head crane back when he steps in closer.

"While I can appreciate the value of a crowd, I've found that some business is better conducted in private," Sebastian announces, the distance between them vanishing in the space of a few steps until he's looming inside Blaine's space, reaching out to brush a wayward curl of hair back off his face almost fondly.

The feather-light brush of fingers makes Blaine's stomach twist unexpectedly, his eyes drifting up to meet Sebastian's intent stare as heat flares in his blood.

"You aren't all ice, are you Stark?" Sebastian asks, his hand dropping to rest on Blaine's shoulder, long fingers tracing the hem of velvet against Blaine's neck.

"My name is Blaine," he replies, unable to summon his voice to say anything of substance, to protest over the rapid fluttering of his heart.

"I know who you are," Sebastian laughs back, taking another step forward and crowding Blaine back against the wall as his other hand reaches out to curl around his waist and splay, warm, at the small of his back.

Blaine raises his hands, as if to push Sebastian away, but they end up just resting flat against his chest, over the pair of lions rampant that decorate his doublet. His voice isn't anywhere near as steady as he wishes it was when he asks, "What are you doing?"

"I owe you a favor, Blaine," Sebastian reminds him, voice low and eyes dark as he dips his head in, his breath warm against Blaine's parted lips. "And a Lannister always pays his debts."


	2. The Wolf's Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sebastian is a Lannister of Casterly Rock and Blaine is a Stark of Winterfell and Blaine discovers that it's after the tourney is won that the game really begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Insinuated off-screen incest (Andercest!) and sexposition. To be fair, it wouldn't be a Game of Thrones AU without it. It is known.

\--

It’s so dark that Blaine can only just make out shapes in the shadows around him, highlighted by flickers of dim orange light from the fire that is still burning low in the grate. He can put a name to few things in the gloom - the blocky shape of a table, a rounded blob he suspects might be a chair, the looming presence of a positively massive bed beyond that, wreathed in shadows.

The rooms are so much larger than the chambers he and his brother had been assigned, tucked away on nearly the exact opposite side of the Keep near the kitchens. Cooper hadn’t been pleased, when he’d seen where they’d been put. He hadn’t said anything, had been nothing but gracious to anyone who asked, but to Blaine his brother’s thoughts had always been an open book. It had been intended as a slight, no doubt.

Blaine waits warily, shifting restlessly in the dark as he cranes his head slowly in search of the man who had led him here.

Sebastian had melted away into the shadows at almost the exact same moment that he’d succeeded in coaxing Blaine into them, leaving him with only an unspoken promise in the quirk of his lips for an explanation. His retreat had left Blaine with only the skittish jackrabbit of his heart and the cold for company and doubt is already starting to sway his resolve.

As he licks away the taste of dark, spiced wine from his lips Blaine wonders, for a moment, what his father would think - what Cooper would think - if they knew where he was. 

It was obvious from the moment Sebastian had drawn him in through the doors (still half-drunk on wine and the heady warmth of Sebastian pressing him into the cold, stone walls of the Keep with Gold Cloaks only just out of sight) that the chambermaids who tended to Sebastian’s rooms hadn’t anticipated he would be returning at all tonight. The fire had been banked to little more than embers, the candles unlit and the rooms deserted; silent, still and cool while in the hall the feasting would carry on for the better part of the night.

He wonders if anybody has noted their absence. He doubts anyone at court has missed his presence, not unless Cooper has retired early as well - but Sebastian is one of the tourney champions and a well-known face at court. Beyond the hall the Keep had been almost deserted. Even if he were to yell as loudly as he possibly could now, he doubts anyone would be around to hear him.

This has to be the worst decision he’s made since he bowed to his father’s proposal (command, really) to follow his brother to King’s Landing and, in his words, try not to bring further shame to their house. Blaine is almost certain that this is not what his father had in mind.

He can hear the soft pad of doeskin boots across the stone floors nearby, the muffled sound and the stirring of shadows every so often the only sign he has that Sebastian is still there, moving quietly around his rooms.

A sudden flare of sparks from the fire startles Blaine from his search, followed almost immediately by the loud pop and crackle of fresh fuel smoking in the grate before it catches alight in a sudden flare of bright flame. Blaine catches only the briefest glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye before there is an arm winding around his waist, tugging him back until his shoulderblades thump into the solid, mass of Sebastian’s chest and there’s soft laughter at the yelp that escapes him.

He squirms against the damp heat of Sebastian’s breath against his neck as he asks, “You aren’t afraid of the dark, are you Blaine?”

It takes a moment for Blaine to realize that he had been moving, however slowly, in the direction of the fire when Sebastian intercepted him. It’s brighter here, though barely; the flames cast shadows across Sebastian’s hand as it roams up his chest, mapping a slow path from his hip to splay wide over his chest and pointedly draw their bodies closer together.

“Not the dark,” Blaine admits, his breath catching in his throat as Sebastian rocks his hips forward, dragging the evidence of his stirring interest slowly against Blaine’s ass. “Perhaps what’s waiting in the dark.”

“Lions then,” Sebastian murmurs against his neck. “Are you afraid of lions in the North?”

“Wolves don’t fear lions,” Blaine replies coolly, earning only a soft chuckle and the nip of teeth at his neck as Sebastian’s fingers tug blindly at the clasps of his doublet.

“Maybe they should,” Sebastian hums against his skin, dropping wet, open-mouthed kisses up the column of Blaine’s neck as his hand works steadily lower. He sucks hard at the skin below Blaine’s jaw with a muffled sound of triumph when Blaine’s doublet finally falls open. “What of the lions who drag unsuspecting little wolf-pups back to their dens to devour them?”

Blaine stiffens at that, twisting out of Sebastian’s hold and stepping back to glare up at him, rubbing absently at the patch of skin Sebastian had been worrying. His voice comes out sharp and wounded as he scoffs, “A pup, am I?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows inch upward, his lips curling wide into a teeth-baring grin as he claims back the space between them with one step and settles his hands over Blaine’s hips, fingers digging firm into his flesh as he says, “So sensitive, Stark. Perhaps you should run off back to your brother, he must be cold without you to warm his bed.”

Blaine steps back again in an attempt to put space between them, but Sebastian matches it with one of his own, his eyes dark and intent with only the flicker of the flames to light them. Blaine sets his jaw, determined to ignore the crawl of heat rising steadily up his neck at the implication that he’s heard too many times to count. 

He’s always been closer to Cooper than people have thought was proper - more than just brothers since the day Blaine was born - their lady mother’s death trying to birth the sister they’d never have had hit their family hard and their lord father even harder. His demeanour had turned to ice, to stone, until he more closely resembled the worn statues of the dead kings and lords of Winterfell with their rusting swords, housed deep in the crypts beneath the castle, than anything living. 

For a long time now Cooper has been the only person who Blaine has ever been able to say, with any amount of certainty, truly loves him. Cooper has been everything to him; father and mother and brother and lover and friend and protector and mentor; but most of all he is family.

The only real family Blaine has - and he won’t let anyone shame him.

Blaine’s suddenly absurdly grateful for how dark the room is. No matter how keen Sebastian’s eyesight might be, he will not see the flush of colour that anger brings to his cheeks as he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I cannot say I blame him for wanting you kept close at hand,” Sebastian continues as if Blaine hadn’t spoken at all, raising a hand to trace the line of his jaw while his other thumb dips lazily beneath the hem of Blaine’s breeches. “You’re prettier than all the sweet maidens in the King’s Court - but there are eyes and ears in the walls of the Red Keep, little wolf, you should pay heed to how loudly you howl together. You know how people like to talk.”

Blaine is not nearly so dim as to miss the threat in his words. 

The heady warmth that had followed Sebastian’s kisses and the solid press of his body deserts him as quickly as it had stirred, and it’s all he can do to stare up at Sebastian with trepidation gilded with anger as he asks, “What do you mean?”

Sebastian laughs, dragging a hand up beneath the loose fabric of his undershirt, the callused skin of his palm and the touch of his fingertips cool and rough against Blaine’s skin as they slide up his side to rest at the warm skin of his waist and Blaine finds himself being shepherded backwards. The light of the flames catches in Sebastian’s hair, streaking it red and gold as they pass the fireplace, but Sebastian’s face is cast in shadows.

“You do not understand why your father sent you away to the King’s court, do you pup?” Sebastian asks as the glow of the fire recedes and Sebastian guides them back deeper into the shadows, further and further. 

Blaine doesn’t know how to respond. His own theories vary wildly - though Cooper had been unwilling to speculate on the matter when he’d brought it up. Blaine’s always rather suspected that, had his father sired more children, he would have been sent north to the Wall - but instead for the first time in his life he’d been sent south to King’s Landing and he realizes, as the bed hits the back of his thighs and he tumbles backwards with a surprised yelp, that he has no idea why.

He isn’t given time to regroup, barely having pushed himself back up onto his elbows before Sebastian is following after, his knees bracketing Blaine’s hips as he looms over him. Blaine can only see the barest hint of Sebastian’s triumphant smile, carving a dark line across his face in the dimmest of light from an unshuttered window.

“I came to support my brother at the tourney,” Blaine replies as he pushes himself back up onto his hands, the movement bringing them close enough together that he can see the laughter in Sebastian’s eyes and feel the warmth of his breath on his skin.

“And you even believe it too, don’t you little wolf?” Sebastian replies, voice low and distracted, as he tugs at the dark velvet of Blaine’s doublet, sliding it over Blaine’s shoulders and down his arms until Blaine is forced to lean up into Sebastian’s space to free them.

Sebastian tosses the doublet carelessly aside, his hands returning to smooth greedily over the thin white silk of Blaine’s undershirt, over his shoulders and down his chest before he leans forward to nip at Blaine’s jaw, shaved smooth for the tourney and the feast but already starting to darken with stubble. 

“It was my lord father’s wish,” Blaine insists stiffly, the heat that had deserted him earlier starting to stir beneath his skin again as Sebastian’s hands go to work removing his own tunic, though he isn’t entirely convinced that it isn’t just anger. 

Blaine can hear Sebastian laughing to himself as he draws back and the dark mass of it drops to the floor, quickly joined by his own undershirt until he’s looming over Blaine again bare-chested and pale in the dim light. Blaine can make out scatters of freckles and moles across his chest and, lower, the darkening bloom of an ugly bruise where a lance had glanced off his armour that morning. 

“I heard it was your lord father’s wish to see his most inconvenient second son wedded and bedded and trundled off to the other side of the Seven Kingdoms, where he won’t put the esteemed honour of the Starks at further risk,” Sebastian scoffs back, tugging roughly at the ties of Blaine’s shirt when they put up some resistance. “I was told the old wolf never showed much talent for the game, but all that Northern snow must have frozen his wits as well.”

Blaine opens his mouth to protest (unsure which slight he should be contending first when he suspects both contain more truth than lies) but Sebastian seizes the advantage, cutting him off with a sharp nip of his teeth at Blaine’s lower lip before he angles in. His lips move slowly over Blaine’s, coaxing him into a response until the protest is forgotten and he is opening up to Sebastian, pushing up to meet him, his hands skimming over the hard, lean muscle of Sebastian’s arms and squeezing at his shoulders.

The recklessness that had seized him outside of the feasting hall, initially dampened by Sebastian’s blunt tongue, is returning. Fueled by the slow burn of anger and frustration at feeling underestimated yet again and the part of him that has always felt stifled and contained by the thick walls of Winterfell and his father’s endless disappointment. 

Heat trails across his skin in the wake of Sebastian’s fingertips as the last of the ties of his shirt are tugged free and Sebastian pushes it off Blaine’s shoulders. 

The rough drag of Sebastian’s calloused fingers over his ribs makes him squirm, the soft sounds that keep trying to escape him swallowed up by the slow movement of their mouths. Blunt fingernails drag slowly down the soft skin of his belly, following the trail of dark hair to the laces of his breeches.

Blaine should probably stop this now - involving himself in the games of the court is a bad idea, especially at the hands of a Lannister. He is ill-equipped to play the game against any foe, let alone one as skilled as Sebastian would have him believe he is - but the large, broad hand that rubs impatiently over his hip, sliding down to palm over where Blaine’s already half-hard and straining against the fabric while Sebastian tugs blindly at the lacings on his breeches feels dangerously good. Blaine’s starting to think he might already be too late. 

The next tug on the ties is sharp, impatient, and Blaine’s hips follow the motion, a jolt of heat racing through his groin that is echoed in the hitch of his breath - enough for Sebastian to draw back, his breathing loud and impatient in the still chamber and his eyes dipping slowly down the length of him before he smiles.

“Your lord father is the least of your problems now, Stark,” Sebastian says, voice low and soft as he presses a hand to Blaine’s chest and uses it to press him backwards until he can feel the soft fur of some animal’s pelt against his back and Sebastian bends over him, lips grazing the skin of his chest so lightly it almost tickles. 

“Do all Lannister’s talk as much as you?” Blaine asks.

Sebastian’s corresponding snort of laughter makes Blaine even more certain that he doesn’t want to know whatever it is that he’s planning.

There’s another sharp tug at the knot before the laces finally come free and Sebastian draws back, sliding off the edge of the bed to stand as he tugs Blaine’s boots from his feet and makes a show of peeling Blaine’s breeches down his legs. A surge of defiance rolls through him as he catches sight of the sharp curve of Sebastian’s lips and he sits up, fingers tracing absently through the short, soft fur of the pelt beneath him while Sebastian sheds his boots and discards his own breeches.

Blaine barely catches a glimpse of him standing at the side of the bed - bare and pale in the dim light of the dying fire - before he’s right there again, the calluses on his palms catching on the soft skin of Blaine’s inner thighs to part them until Sebastian can settle himself between them. He’s perfectly still for a moment and Blaine stares up at him through his eyelashes, fingers digging into the pelt beneath him as Sebastian’s raises a hand, his fingers tracing the length of his collarbone before he murmurs, “Your brother is cleverer than I thought. Keeping you hidden away from us for so long.”

He surges forward and Blaine falls back, the solid weight of Sebastian settling over him, the slide of warm skin against his own, has the rhythm of his heart picking up, thumping louder in his ears as his stomach tightens and the slow ache of need throbs in his cock. He can feel Sebastian hard and pressing into his hip, nowhere close to where Blaine actually wants him, and shifts beneath him, a frustrated whine dragging up his throat as he rocks his hips upward. 

Sebastian laughs, rising up higher to kiss him as he settles his weight onto one arm and slides his other down Blaine’s side, ghosting soft down his ribs and following the dip of his waist, rubbing slow and warm over his hip, before following the gentle dip of his spine, over the curve of his ass before grabbing hold and squeezing, hard enough for Blaine’s hips to snap upward and his mouth to drop open in a silent gasp. He hears the hum of satisfaction as Sebastian releases his hold, dragging his hand pointedly up the back of Blaine’s thigh, and slapping the back of it lightly.

Blaine takes the hint, hitching his knees up and hooking his ankles at the small of Sebastian’s back, the shift accompanied by the slow drag of Sebastian’s mouth down the column of his neck and the slow building ache in his cock. 

“So eager, Stark,” Sebastian murmurs, though his voice sounds strained to Blaine’s ears.

The deliberate, careful shift of his weight presses Sebastian’s cock, heavy with arousal, against his own and Blaine tips his head back, holding back the groan in his throat at the sensitive drag of skin. His fingers dig into the pelt beneath him and Sebastian hums against the apple of his throat, drags his teeth over it, before he lifts his head to stare down at Blaine thoughtfully.

It’s so utterly still that Blaine can hear the soft crackle of the fire beneath their breathing, the touch of Sebastian’s hand as it traces his cheek startles him, followed by the thumb dragging slowly across his lower lip. 

“I knew I could have you,” Sebastian says, eyes fixed on the sight of Blaine’s parted lips. “I saw it in your eyes. You like being trapped in this city as much as a lion likes a cage, don’t you Stark?”

It itches inside him sometimes - Blaine cannot bear the stillness, the stagnant life of waiting that his lord father bears in silence behind the thick walls of Winterfell, forever wary of the day the peace between north and south shatters under the weight of suspicion and bad blood. 

His father calls it the wolf’s blood, he says that he acts too quickly and without thinking - that it makes him unpredictable and a danger to himself and everyone around him. For a long time Blaine has fought to be the very opposite; the picture of the dutiful, dependable son in the hopes that his father would forgive him his faults. For all the good it has done him. 

It was the nature that, in his father’s opinion, had nearly meant the end for their house when they had risen up against the King and the rest of the North had followed. The war had been cruel to all sides, but Northmen have long memories. Even now, after the peace treaties have long been sealed, the tension of that war still remains. 

And for all that Winterfell had once felt like a prison to him, he had never anticipated King’s Landing being worse. He feels watched in the King’s city. Stalked.

Sebastian grinds his hips down slowly and the dry drag of sensitive skin, aided only by the fine layer of sweat starting to build between them, pulls Blaine from his thoughts. When he focuses he can see Sebastian staring down at him, studying him with an interest that’s a little alarming.

He doesn’t know what Sebastian’s doing, why he’s slowed his frenzied conquest to almost a standstill, his eyes fixed and curious while sweat starts to gather where their bodies are pressed flush together, stationary, and his cock throbs for want of attention. 

“What is it that you want, Stark?” He asks suddenly, dipping his head low to mouth at Blaine’s ear, skimming his nose up to press a kiss to his hairline and holding infuriatingly still when Blaine rocks his hips pointedly upwards. “Even northmen must want for something - power, gold, land, safety, love?”

Blaine wants to be far away from King’s Landing and the treacherous web of court politics - he wants to be out from beneath the weight of his father’s crushing disappointment. He wants to hunt in the wolf’s wood and go to tourneys to participate, not watch (or be watched.) He wants to see his brother happy - as the lord of Winterfell with his pretty wife and more fat children than he knows what to do with. He wants a lot of things.

He doesn’t want to get caught up in whatever plot Sebastian has turning behind those narrowed eyes.

“I want you to stop talking for a start,” he grumbles instead, digging his heels into the small of Sebastian’s back to pull him closer.

“Impatient,” Sebastian murmurs beneath his breath as he licks a long stripe down the center of his palm and reaches down between them to wrap his hand firmly around them both. 

The drag of Sebastian’s fist is tight and rough, slow and too-dry, but it feels good enough that Blaine’s head drops back with a sigh. Sebastian chases after him, the slide of their lips together unhurried and lazy as his hand settles into a steady rhythm and tight heat starts to pool in Blaine’s belly.

It doesn’t take long once Sebastian sets his mind to it, the slow build of pleasure fuelled as much by the slide of their tongues as the tight channel of Sebastian’s fist, working them together. He comes hard with a shuddering gasp into Sebastian’s mouth, heels digging hard into the meat of Sebastian’s ass as he spills over his fist and onto his own stomach. 

It takes a few more strokes, drawing a whine from low in Blaine’s throat, before Sebastian follows, panting against Blaine’s jaw as the arm that had been holding him up gives way and he drops down on top of him, smearing the slick mess of their bellies together.

Blaine can feel their chests rising and falling against one another, the sound of their breathing loud in his ears as the solid weight of Sebastian pins him to the mattress. He listens to the gradual slowing of their breaths, feeling lazy and slow as Sebastian turns his head to press lazy kisses into Blaine’s neck until his thighs are trembling and burning from the effort of staying locked into place and he lets them fall open, heels hitting the mattress with a thump.

It’s not until their breathing has settled that Sebastian rolls off of him, a leg still tangled around his as if to stop Blaine from going anywhere, though he feels tired already - too much wine and heat, he thinks - and the darkness of Sebastian’s rooms is suddenly enticing rather than alarming. 

The sensation of Sebastian’s fingers sliding across the slick mess of his belly makes him shift, eyes turning towards where Sebastian has shifted o prop himself up on his side and is staring down at him thoughtfully.

He doesn’t know what posseses him, but curiosity overthrows caution and he frowns as he asks, “So what is it that you want, Lannister?”

Sebastian’s smile is sharp and immediate, his fingers tracing slowly up Blaine’s belly towards his chest as he replies, “Everything.”

Blaine thinks that answer should probably worry him more than it does, but he’s really too tired to care.

\--

When he wakes it’s to the grey light of pre-dawn, his bare skin freezing beneath the pile of furs that have been tossed over him. It takes him a moment to push past the low throb of his head - to stare uncomprehending at the strange surroundings and the unfamiliar bedding; deep, wine red hangings and soft, tawny gold pelts that have been piled over him - before he remembers. In the light of day he recognizes them for lion skins and his fingers card curiously through the surprisingly soft fur before he notices Sebastian watching him.

“You sleep like the dead,” Sebastian says after a moment, staring down at him as he leans, naked beneath an unbelted robe, against the post at the foot of the bed.

Blaine fights back a yawn, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he gathers his wits and pushes himself up with his hands. “I do not.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows creep up in some mummer’s farce of astonishment, the lazy and self-satisfied curve of his lips making Blaine want to roll his eyes. “A less honourable man might have taken advantage.”

“And you’re an honourable man?” Blaine asks, not even bothering to mask the skepticism in his voice.

If anything Sebastian’s smile widens at his response, “I suppose that depends on who you ask.”

Blaine ignores both the easy evasion of his question and the blatant path Sebastian’s eyes take as he stretches his arms over his head, working the stiffness from his spine. He wants nothing more than a bath to wash away the sour smell of sweat and the evidence of last night, dried to his belly but the way Sebastian is looking at him, hungry and entirely unguarded, gives him the impetus to ask the question that has been bothering him since Sebastian kissed him, in full view of most of the court and all the common-folk who had been able to squeeze in, at the jousting fields. “Why me?”

Sebastian tilts his head a little, eyes trailing down the expanse of his bare chest and up again before he saunters around the edge of the bed, his fingers reaching to trace down Blaine’s cheek as he leans over the mattress before he laughs, ducks in to press his lips over a surprisingly tender spot on his throat. “Because I wanted to, and you’re you.” 

Blaine’s pretty sure that tells him precisely nothing.

“You aren’t very good at the game yet, little wolf, but I’m sure you’ll learn,” Sebastian continues, sliding a hand down the bare skin of Blaine’s chest to where the lion pelts are piled into his lap, his voice is soft and far too amused as he says, “Every piece has it’s part to play. Perhaps you should ask your brother that question.”

The mention of his brother makes Blaine turn away, narrowing his eyes and Sebastian reaches out to turn his face back towards him. He plants a firm, searing kiss on Blaine’s lips, lingering only until Blaine relaxes before he draws back to regard him with fond amusement. 

“I’m sure your brother is wondering where you are,” Sebastian prompts as he straightens back to his full height.

It sounds a lot like a dismissal.

Blaine pushes the furs off his lap, unable to keep the beginnings of a frown from his face when Sebastian simply smiles a little wider, watching Blaine gather his clothing and pull it back into place. He dresses as quickly as he can, trying to ignore the blatant way Sebastian ogles the shift of his body right up until he is finished with the last of the clasps on his doublet and has smoothed the wrinkles out the best he can.

He’s moving to leave, walking stiffly towards the door because he’s uncertain of exactly what it is he’s supposed to say in the wake of that - he’s never, exactly, done that before, not in a way that required awkward morning-after conversations at least - when Sebastian calls out to him.

It’s instinct that makes him pause, long enough for Sebastian to crowd him back against the wall beside the door, sliding a hand along his cheek and up into his hair before he ducks in to kiss him again. It’s ferocious and a little vicious, much like that first kiss as Blaine stood in the gallery and Sebastian bent low in his saddle, and when Sebastian pulls back it’s with a sharp tug of Blaine’s lower lip between his teeth.

“I expect we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other soon, Blaine,” Sebastian says almost flippantly as he steps back, head held high and a smile crawling slowly across his face. “I hear there’s a wedding to be planned.”

Something about that smile, entirely too amused for it’s own good, makes Blaine uneasy as he steps around him and Sebastian pulls open the door before he can get there.

Two steps and he’s through the door, feeling like he can finally breathe, except for the parting, “Give my regards to your brother,” that follows him into the hall.

And Blaine suspects that Cooper won’t be the least bit pleased to hear it.


End file.
